


The World Is Hollow (And I Have Touched the Sky)

by verivala



Series: Grindeldore one-shots [15]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1945, Angst and Feels, Bittersweet, Canon Gay Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, The Duel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 15:04:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20311486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verivala/pseuds/verivala
Summary: "I would have given you the world," he said, his voice quiet, the English syllables stumbling across his tongue as if he had not spoken it in a long time.





	The World Is Hollow (And I Have Touched the Sky)

**Author's Note:**

> title stolen from star trek. it has nothing to do with the fic but its a bomb-ass title so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Albus could feel the heat of the flames on his skin. They raged around them, eating everything in their path. The air smelled of things consumed by fire, of fabric, wood and the sickening smell of flesh. Ignoring it, he stepped forward, over a pile of rubble that used to be part of someone's home. Now, it was just a collection of broken pieces, abandoned on the streets. The sounds behind the curtain of flames were muffled under the crackle of the fire, but he could still hear faint screaming echoing in his ears. He knew that all around them, a battle was being waged, but he could not see any sign of life. It was as if, once again, they were all alone in the world.

(The barn was peaceful, the only sounds that could be heard were the crickets chirping outside. A small beam of moonlight shone inside, highlighting Gellert’s face and turning his hair from gold to silver. The side of his face facing the floor was cast in shadow, creating a strange mirror of the colours of his eyes. Fascinated, Albus traced a finger over his brow, and he leaned into the touch. His eyes, paler in the moonlight, looked at him as if he was the only thing in the world that existed. Craning his head, Albus felt the softness of his lips.)

Something shattered under his feet. Albus looked down; it was a locket. He picked it up and opened it, revealing a picture of a young girl with her mother. It was an old picture, worn by time and love; someone caressing it with their fingers too many times to count. With an ache in his chest, Albus smoothed a hand over it and slipped it into his pocket.

A crunch of rubble sounded from ahead of him. Albus looked up. Gellert was standing close by, his expression unreadable (Once, Albus had thought he knew everything about him. And that he knew everything about _him_ in return. He was uncertain if that still held true. Or if it ever had).

A trickle of blood was running down from a cut on Gellert’s cheek, and his hair was falling in strands from the bun he had tied it on before they had started. His cloak - once immaculate, carefully chosen to accentuate his figure - was scorched from the flames, and his tie had fallen off, lost somewhere in the course of their duel. Panting from their last bout, Gellert was still holding his wand in his hand. (Gellert's breath came heavily against the skin of Albus' back. Their skin was moist with sweat, and a new ache was forming between Albus' legs. He pushed up, and rolled them around, kissing his name off Gellert's lips).

Slipping his wand into his pocket, Albus carefully approached him. (It was a funny feeling, approaching someone you loved like they were an animal about to bite). Gellert followed his trek with his eyes, but he made no move to either attack or retreat. Taking it as permission, Albus came to a stop only a few feet away from him.

Running his eyes over him, Albus catalogued his features, trying to find a sign of the boy he had once known. Did he linger in the laugh lines around his eyes? Maybe in the crook of his fingers around a wand? Did he live in the way his cloak was wrapped around him, tied with an intricate knot the likes you rarely saw? Or was he just here, in front of him, hardened by years, but still the person Albus had loved and lost? (Had he ever existed at all? Or had he just been a wishful dream of a person blinded? Maybe the answer was both - and neither.)

Slowly, Albus raised his hand. Gellert kept watching him. The intensity of his gaze was the same it had been years ago; like Albus was the only thing that existed in the world. It was a lie made apparent by the flames burning against Albus' skin, and the destruction they had wrought between them. A lie Albus had once believed, and the results of which lay destroyed in a locked box in his rooms, hidden behind a pile of books. His fingers ached to touch the skin above his chest.

Albus' hand came to rest on Gellert's cheek. He spread his fingers; the bristle of a beard dragged across the palm of his hand. Gellert’s skin was warm to the touch. Gellert remained unmoving, his hand still on his wand, and his eyes still trained on Albus. He did not blink. Only the movement of his chest gave away that he was alive, and not a statue of Regret made flesh. Albus' thumb caressed his cheekbone.

"Look around you, Gellert," Albus whispered, his voice hoarse from hours wasted fighting, trying to destroy each other as if they had not already done so in that barn when they had promised each other Eternity. "Is this what you wanted? Is it?" he asked, spreading out his other hand, indicating their surroundings.

Slowly, Gellert looked around, his eyes running over the ash-covered sky, the remains of buildings, the fire that was climbing higher and higher around them. From far away, sounds of battle echoed; the cracking of earth, the shouts of fury, and the cries of pain. The sun was rising in the east, casting it all into shades of orange, the effects of which were dimmed by the ash falling over them like snow. 

Gellert blinked; Albus saw that his eyelashes were smudged with ash. He looked down at the wand in his hand, his fingers gripping it so tightly the bones of his hands were white. He closed his eyes, and Albus wondered what revelation he was Seeking. A moment later, Gellert raised his head and looked at him. His eyes were still blank, like the surface of a lake in winter, but as he looked at Albus, something flickered behind them. It vanished before Albus could say what it was, but it reminded him of days long gone, of kisses exchanged between sheets, the rattling of an owl against his window at midnight, and the heated pressure of skin against skin.

Slowly, Gellert sunk onto his knees, almost as if in a parody of his passion in their youth. His face turned upward, he knelt in the rubble before Albus, the first rays of yellow sunlight dancing across his skin. His hair was no longer gold, but white, tinged grey from the ash. The cut on his face was no longer bleeding. Raising his hand, he pressed his wand onto Albus' open palm, squeezing his fingers tightly around it. "I would have given you the world," he said, his voice quiet, the English syllables stumbling across his tongue as if he had not spoken it in a long time.

Sliding the wand into his pocket, Albus leaned down and pressed his forehead against him. He felt Gellert’s eyelashes brushing against the skin of his cheeks. Raising his hands, he gripped Gellert’s face between his palms. "I know," he whispered, his voice cracking under the force of oncoming tears. "I know."

**Author's Note:**

> One comment = one virtual hug
> 
> My Tumblr: bloodtroth


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